


Untitled: a Goose Game Creepypasta

by silvercolour



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom, Untitled Goose Game (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Goose-typical violence, Horror, missing child, you know that single pacifier you can find in-game? Yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24714370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercolour/pseuds/silvercolour
Summary: I do not remember when it first appeared in our town.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 43





	Untitled: a Goose Game Creepypasta

I do not remember when it first appeared in our town.

I know it hasn't always been there- the town would not have lasted.

And yet it is difficult to remember a time  _ before _ .

Before the Goose.

I know how silly that sentence sounds, believe me. I’ve tried explaining it to friends from out of town- hell, there’s people  _ in _ town who think it’s an exaggeration. The ladies who usually eat their lunch at the pub seem to find it entertaining. They appear to think the creature is a fancy little lad. I envy them their ability to not see the things it does. The Goose itself seems to find a vicious gratification in their admiration. I suspect it is waiting for the opportune moment to break their hopes and their happiness.

No one knows where it appeared from, or where it hides when you look for it. It is impossible to find, and vanishes for days or even weeks. But it always comes back, and seems to take a malicious pleasure in doing so just as you begin to believe it may finally have left for good. The moment -the  _ very moment,  _ night or day- you allow yourself to hope it may be gone, it is there, creeping up behind you, and honking loud enough to wake the dead.

Some people have taken to putting up signs over their gardens and shops, stating that no geese are allowed in. This always confuses visitors to the town. People do not believe that any bird could understand a written sign. I too am confused as to why they’ve put up signs- speak of the Demon Goose, and it shall appear to honk at you, after all. If anything these signs seem to be an invitation for its presence, and its wrath.

Of course, it tries to take down the signs as soon as it sees them, but that’s not all. It will take anything it can get its monstrous, sharp-toothed beak on- and I do mean anything. If you think it’s too big to take? You’re either wrong, like the gardener thought of his bags of fertilizer, or you’re right. Nothing is safe, and nowhere is a good hiding spot. It will find whatever it is you least want it to find and take it from you, one way or another.

I hear you thinking ‘okay, so what if I’m right?’. If you’re right, and whatever you deemed unstealable has the misfortune of being too big to carry off, it will be destroyed instead. Nothing is safe.

‘Okay, so property destruction and a bit of terror, that’s all this goose does?’ I hear you think it, just as I can see it in the faces of everyone I’ve tried to tell this. But I need to tell this story to  _ someone _ . This hateful creature must not be allowed to terrorize our homes.

At night, when I can’t sleep, I sometimes hear it roaming, the quick pitter-patter of webbed feet outside my bedroom window matching the cadence of my heart in my throat as I wait for it to leave. Doesn’t sound very brave, does it? Usually it leaves if it hears no sounds from inside.

It's not brave at all of me, and of the entire village, but we stay quiet at night.

Let me tell you why. Let me tell you of the first and last time that horrid thing found someone who didn’t stay quiet. Because it has only happened once, and once was already too much.

The Millers had a child, called Sammy. Baby Sammy was as cute as any baby a few months old can be- that is, cute if you care about them, but otherwise a bit raisin-y and bland. Sammy had been having trouble sleeping almost from the start, and cried a lot. That isn’t anything unusual in a baby. Day by day Sammy’s parents looked more tired- because when Sammy didn't sleep, they didn’t sleep either.

Looking back, it might count as a miracle that the Goose was gone for such a long time. It terrorized the village during mrs. Miller’s pregnancy, but left shortly before she gave birth. It stayed away for many weeks after that, for what I think may have been the longest time since it first showed it’s vile feathery face in our town.

The day the Goose came back is the day we found out baby Sammy was missing.

Sammy’s parents looked well rested that morning, more so than they’d had in weeks. That is, underneath the shock.

Because Sammy was missing. Sammy had not woken them all night. From his crib, inside a closed bedroom, inside a locked house: Sammy had vanished.

We searched everywhere- of course we did. The whole village helped. And while we searched that damned Goose tore through every garden it could reach, breaking signs that had been undamaged for months, uprooting vegetables, and scaring kids.

As though our distraction was a joke to it, something to laugh at, and take advantage of. Late in the day we found Sammy’s pacifier, near the lock in the canal. Sammy’s parents were heartbroken. 

Sammy hasn’t been seen since, and no one talks about it anymore. It’s better not to remind ourselves.

Nor does anyone talk about the crying child you can sometimes hear at night. The crying sounds never change- it has never aged in all the time we’ve heard it. It cries for a short while, and it silent as soon as you hear the Goose.

Not when the child hears it. When  _ you _ hear it. I do not know what that means. I am very sure I don’t want to know.

Do you know what the worst thing is? Sammy’s mother was the first to hear those cries. She still hears them more often than anyone else, although she has given up on going out to look for Sammy. In the morning you can tell whether she’s heard the cries that night or not. She will once again look like she hasn’t slept properly in months- just like before.

...

It’s evening now, and as I write this I hear ugly, pattering feet outside my window. I hear it’s vicious honks. I hear it breaking up my garden, tearing through plants and fences and anything it gets its beak on.

It’s trying to get in, I know it is.

I think it knows what I’ve written-

I don’t know what to do.

Please, if I disappear, tell my story. Tell Sammy’s story.

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a small thank you for EscapeArtistsPodcasts for their wonderful streams over [ here on Twitch ](%E2%80%9C), which you should definitely check out for good times, scary stories and Shenanigans!
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this story!


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